The Mirror Of Truth
by DrkVrtx
Summary: Calamity looked into the Mirror and saw a truth she could not accept. The Nymph, young and innocent, was left without home and family. The Angel, brave and true, showed mercy where all others did not know how to. AU
1. To Know The Truth

"Mirror, Mirror", she would sing. "Show me your perfect truth. Who is most fair in all creation?"

The image upon the Mirror's surface, which for the moment would show only her reflection, would begin to grow hazy as she speaks. For a moment, all that she would see is a fine, silver mist, impenetrable to her eye. But she would not dwell in confusion; she would stand with a confident poise and a slanted smile upon her lips. She would always know what the Mirror will show her, for it could only answer to her question with the truth.

Her name is Calamity. She is the embodiment of perfection, the first daughter of the Elder Gods and the crowning jewel of the pantheon. Her hair shimmers as it falls down past her shoulders, of a colour so vivid that it puts the sky of Man's domain to shame. It is soft and silky, a privilege to behold with one's eyes, and one of the greatest pleasures to behold with one's touch. With her hair alone, she has driven Gods and Men to insanity. But that is not all that she is blessed with. Oh, far from it!

Her body is sculpted from the finest alabaster, a template from which all who are granted the female form are created. But none can ever hope to surpass or even equal her perfection. The swell of her chest gently curves towards a taut, flat stomach; the soft slope of her hips ignites the fire of lust within the eyes and their subtle, measured sway as she walks drives every reasonable thought from the mind. Her lips glisten, begging to be kissed, and her amethyst eyes sparkle more beautifully than the stone itself. What is she then, if not perfect? Who else can even hope to merely stand in her shadow?

None. So when the Mirror reveals to her the fairest of them all, she looks upon herself without surprise. She knows that the Mirror can tell no lies. For her own amusement, she cocks her hips and blows a kiss at herself. She is perfect, and there are none who can stand beside her as equals.

Until one day, when she again stands before the Mirror and poses the very same question. Her image upon its shimmering surface fades into obscurity, and for a moment all is hidden beneath the silver mist. But she does not dwell in confusion; she stands with a confident poise and a slanted smile. She knows what the Mirror will show her, for it can only answer to her question with the truth.

Except that today, the truth is different.

No words will rise to Calamity's lips as she stares at the image before her. The Mirror does not show her herself. No, instead it shows her a multitude of surely lesser women, some with golden locks and others crowned with honey curls; some with sparkling sapphire eyes and others with an emerald gaze.

Calamity is confused, bewildered. Why has the Mirror shown her this? Surely it is not telling her that _all_ of these women had reached and surpassed her beauty. How could it even suggest that _any _of them had? But when she asks the Mirror the same question, it once again shows her its perfect truth.

Calamity is beautiful even in her rage. Her amethyst eyes are ablaze as she watches the multitude of women frolic amongst pools of crystalline water and amidst fields of tall, green grass. She watches as they dwell upon the world beneath the heavens, dancing and singing with its tenants. How dare the Mirror suggest that these lesser beings, who intermingled so freely with Man, matched and surpassed her perfection!

Calamity glares into the Mirror as cold, sharp hatred spreads through her being. She knows that she cannot refute the image in the Mirror, for it can only show her the truth. Her eyes scour the faces of the women it shows her, but yet she does not truly see. She does not understand _why_, but why does not matter. She will not share her crown with anyone; the glory of beauty is hers alone.

And so she plots against them, to destroy each and every one of them until the Mirror recognises the truth of her perfection once more.


	2. She Who Does Not Sleep

The Nymph curls up her small form besides the murmuring tongues of fire; all is dark and cold about her, and she trembles. She is afraid to fall asleep; nightmares chase her across the land of dreams, relentless in their pursuit. She is already struggling to endure the chase that plagues her during her waking hours.

Everything had changed so quickly, far too quickly for her to truly grasp what had happened. She and her many Sisters had supped in the heavens with the Gods and danced with Man upon the earth. They had an affinity and a deep love for all things of nature, and had also grown to care for humankind. They had bestowed many blessings upon them, enriching their harvests and purifying the waters of their lakes and rivers. Man had lifted their voice in celebration and thanksgiving to the Nymphs.

She looks mournfully into the flames that grant her warmth; fire had been a gift of Man to the Nymphs in exchange for all that she and her Sisters had done for them. They had accepted it with gladness. She would never have thought that that same gift would be used to destroy them. Man had turned against them with a cry of hatred upon their lips and her Sisters had fallen beneath their sudden rage.

The Nymph holds her knees tightly to her body and moves a little closer to the fire. She is so cold; she can pretend that she trembles merely because of it. But what use is there to hide her grief, and from whom does she hide it? She is the last of them. All of her Sisters are dead, and she is the only voice that is left. Man turned against them, seeking revenge, and the Gods had punished them severely for a crime she knew they did not commit.

She is so tired, and her body begs her to let it rest, tempting her with sleep. She has been running from the Gods and hiding from the eyes of Man. She finds herself in an abandoned Temple wrapped within the clouds high above their world, alone with her grief and terrible sorrow.

The Nymph was once one of seven sisters, and among their kind, they in particular had been revered for their beauty and gentleness. When she succumbs to temptation, she sees her last sister before her eyes. She sees her face fraught with fear and streaked with tears, and her eyes are frantic with panic.

"You must flee!" her sister tells her as she pushes her away, for the Gods have found their hiding place. But the Nymph could not abandon her last sister.

"You must!" she says even as the merciless Gods break through the barrier they had erected in a futile hope. "You must live, and find justice for your Sisters".

Her sister pushes her away once more, and the Nymph falls. She falls and as she does so, she hears the last cry of her sister as she bars the path of the Gods. As one moment transforms into another, she becomes the last of her kind, and she must run for dear life.

The Nymph pulls herself from the land of dreams with painful effort. She feels tears marking their familiar path along her cheeks, tastes their salt upon the corners of her lips. She does not know how to find justice; she is alone and terribly afraid, and all that remains of her Sisters are the nightmares that consume her when she sleeps. She fears what she will find when she wanders into the land of dreams; she fears that as she dwells there, those that hunt her will at last come to pull her life from her breast.

And so she does not sleep. The Nymph sidles closer to Man's flames as she clutches herself tightly, gazing mournfully into their depths.


	3. The Wish Seed

Calamity's eyes widen and then narrow as she looks upon the Mirror, smoking with fury. Her lovely, glistening lips twist as anger flows through her body.

She had set her plans into motion and watched from behind a veil of smoke with satisfaction evident upon her features. The cries of the Nymphs had been plentiful; their deaths were often a cruel and messy affair, but that did not bother Calamity in the least. She returned to the Mirror when the purge of the Nymphs no longer served to entertain her, and posed to it that ever familiar question. Surely now it must recognise her perfection once more.

It hadn't. Instead, as an answer to her question, the Mirror shows her not a multitude – simply one.

Calamity does not understand, and it incenses her greatly that the Mirror refuses to recognise her undeniable perfection. She begins to question its infallibility.

Her plan had been a wonderful thing, she knew. The Nymphs were a race of creatures at one with nature, and somewhere along the line, they had developed a love for Man. They took it upon themselves to care for them both, to help humankind grow peaceably within their surroundings, for they were often driven to destroy rather than preserve.

Calamity is the queen of lies and the mother of deception; the serpent learned its trade at her knee. For her to twist the image of the Nymphs into something that Man and the Gods would despise was but child's play.

Into the minds of Man, she whispers the rumour of a flower, one known only to the Nymphs. This flower, she murmurs gently, is a strange and wonderful flower. Cultivated correctly, its seed will harbour the power to grant any wish.

Upon the tongues of the Nymphs, she lays a song. The song tells of a secret place, hidden deep within Nature's forests, and within it resides Man's greatest blessing. The Nymphs do not remember the words they utter.

Man journeys deep into the forests, fuelled by the promise of power and the answer to all their darkest desires. The forests are laid to waste in their determined search; eventually, they discover that secret place and its strange, wonderful blessing. Calamity smiles down upon them as they plant the seeds, watching and impatiently waiting.

The flowers spread their roots and the land, far and wide, is poisoned. Crops fail, vast fields of corn and wheat reduced to stinking, rotten swaths; the waters of the streams and rivers run black with corruption, and the life that dwells within them floats dead upon the surface.

Man is driven to panic and desperation. Oh, but what wickedness has befallen the earth! Surely the Gods have smote us! Calamity hears them cry such things and reminds them with a gentle whisper.

"The Nymphs…they did this…"

And humankind remembers the song that those pretty little things had often favoured. They remember the promise of a great blessing.

"That promise was of your doom…"

Calamity watches intently when the Nymphs descend to the earth once more to dance with Man. It is a ruthless, unforgiving dance; each step is made with feet splashed with the red of wine, each poised spin accompanied by the tearing of cloth and a desperate cry. The Nymphs gather their senses and flee, but oh – if only that were the end of it. Calamity's plans are not yet come to their fruition; she whispers also into the ears of the Gods, and the Nymphs find themselves struck by a terrible hand of judgement for their crimes.

She assumes them all to be dead; if the Gods are competent at one thing, it is the swift, ruthless deliverance of judgement. And so she here she stands before the Mirror, asking once more the familiar question.

"Mirror, Mirror. Show me your perfect truth. Who is most fair in all creation?"

And yet still, it will not show her what she _knows _to be the truth!

One has survived her purge, and Calamity will not rest until her work is complete. She is thorough in all things.


	4. Realm Of The Sky

Between the heavens and the earth there exists yet another world, a realm that belongs to beings the Elder Gods long since appointed as the champions of Man. They are charged with the rule of the skies and the lands beneath them, and the care of humankind is their primary duty.

The Elder Gods brought them forth as sisters, twin sisters tied together from the moment of their birth. The life of one is meaningless without the existence of the other, and there is no greater bond then theirs. They were gifted with a mighty power and a heavy responsibility; one was chosen to oversee the day, and the other the night.

They possess a peculiar beauty, the sisters of Light and Darkness; like many things, they share their form, and all that differs between them is the colours of their hair, their eyes and their garb. Their hair is a train that reaches to their heels, shimmering as it is stirred by an ethereal wind. The glittering emerald of Light's eye matches the hue of her crown, but her sister's eyes are pale and grey, her hair long and black.

They are gentle and kind, but they are not without their faults. Light is prone to laziness; she will oft neglect her duty. Darkness is quick to anger, and only her sister may soothe her soul. Together, they rule the realm of the sky, dwelling in the midst of a city of angels.

Whether by the hand of Fate or coincidence, the sisters find favour with two angels among their entourage. The angels are twins also, brothers inseparable but for the creed they were born into. One serves the sister of Light; one serves the sister of Darkness. They both find themselves serving at the right hands of their mistresses, called upon to offer good council and their skilful arm when the trumpet of war is sounded.

Light's angel is a brave soul, and humility is one of his defining qualities; his brother is fiercely loyal, and will stand at his mistress' side until the end of days. Together, they stand above their fellow angels, invited into the intimate presence of the sisters. Upon their names do the sisters most often call, and the angels do not hesitate to answer. They carry their blade and bow forth, and strive to return victorious.

One day, Calamity emerges from her abode and makes her presence known within the realm of the sky. Light and Darkness are quick to accommodate her; she is the first daughter of the Elder Gods. Calamity has seen the last of the Nymphs in the depths of the Mirror, but she does not tell the sisters this. Instead, she politely – offhandedly – _suggests_ that they renew their efforts to seek out and deliver judgement upon what she _suspects _to be the last remaining Nymph.

Light and Darkness did not readily contribute to the purge of the Nymphs, and Calamity sees fit to remind them of their duty to Man. As the sisters mutter their promises, Calamity turns her gaze upon the angels that stand in their wake. They are suitably entranced by her beauty, eyes sprung wide and jaws loose. She smirks at them, for surely they had once thought their mistresses to be the image of perfection. She notices the spark of flame that rises to the eye of Darkness' angel at her unspoken slight. Regardless, it is not of her concern; she cares only that the Nymph is discovered, and she makes this clear to the sisters.

When Calamity eventually takes her leave, the city of angels left entranced in her wake, Light and Darkness turn to each other and speak briefly before calling upon their angels. It is not long before the brothers retrieve their blade and bow and take flight, leaving the vast, beautiful city behind them to search the skies for the last of the Nymphs.

The promise of death is heavy upon their wings.


	5. The Hand That Heals

The Nymph rises from her light and troubled sleep, feeling tears upon her cheek as she takes a shuddering breath. The empty void torn into her breast aches with grief as the vestiges of a familiar nightmare fade from before her waking eye. Time after time, she sees her sister push her away before the Gods fall upon her; she sees the faces of Man, twisted with rage and hatred as they fall upon her Sisters.

She should hate them; she should feel nothing in her heart but the cold desire for revenge, and hear nothing but a raging voice in her ear, demanding the deaths of those who robbed her ruthlessly of her family. When the nightmares become too vivid and her cold, dark surroundings threaten to suffocate her, she steps beyond the threshold of the Temple and turns her eyes down to the realm below.

The waters are poison, and the fields nothing more than ashes; an unnatural canker spreads towards the forests, tinging the crown of their trees black. The heart of the Nymph aches all the more for the pain that Nature suffers; she knows – _she knows _– that this is not their work. She and her Sisters' first love was for Nature; they had been born into existence with that love firmly settled within their breast.

Unable to sleep, unable to bear looking upon the grim walls of the Temple's innards any longer, the Nymph casts a careful look about herself before stepping into the sky's embrace.

The first time she returns to the realm of Man, she is deathly afraid; she hides herself from the merest breath of wind, trembling in the shadows. Her strength has waned, her power merely a shadow of what it once was, and her body protests even as she kneels beside the stream and stretches her hand out over it. She does not tarry long and is saddened to find that she cannot do much, but she heals what she can before fleeing back to the skies.

Since that occasion, the Nymph periodically returns to the earth to heal what she can. It is difficult, fatiguing work, for often the poison that claims the lands overpowers the little she is able to do and renders her efforts all for naught. But still she tries.

It takes several visits, but eventually she purifies the river that runs alongside a small, struggling village. Its inhabitants find that they can once again fish from its waters, and the Nymph's spirit is lifted at the joy and relief of the people. But then they turn their eyes to the skies and sing unto the Gods for the miracle. The Nymph retreats to the Temple; its gloom embraces her.

Truly, what had she expected, a cry of adulation from Man towards the Nymphs? They thought that she and her Sisters had plotted against them to destroy them; they had slaughtered them in vengeance for an act they had not committed.

She remembers that dreadful night as cold spreads through her being, the ache at her chest painful. There had been no mercy for them; no words of reason would reach those that the Nymphs had found a love in their hearts for. She had watched her Sisters fall to Man's cruel weapons, watched blood paint the ground and watched as in mindless savagery, her Sisters were forced into the flames that Man had once taught them the secret of.

She should hate them; she should yearn for their blood in kind. The thought has possessed her to truly turn the poisons of the land loose upon humankind for their terrible deeds – but always she dreams, and she hears the voice of her last sister.

_Find justice…_

No, she cannot turn her hand against them. Retribution oft seemed justified in the eyes of the Nymph, but she knew that her sister was always the wiser. What had taken place – the suddenness of it all…it made no sense to her. And so until she can truly make sense of it, she must bear her pain. She must bear the cries of Man to those who had aided in the destruction of all that she knew as she seeks to heal the land, to purify its waters and lift the corruption from its soil.

The Nymph rises from her bed, knowing that sleep will not come to her easily for some time. She steps beyond the threshold of the Temple, and with grace gives herself to the embrace of the skies once more.


	6. A Beautiful Song

The angels soar above the clouds, side by side. Their eyes are narrowed, bows clutched preparedly in hand. They have been flying for several days now, scouring the skies for any sign of the being they have been tasked to find and Light's angel can feel the tension and frustration seeping from his brother's form. He is eager to return to his mistress, and to return only with good news upon his lips. He knows that his brother will not give up the search for that reason alone, but whenever he glances across at him, he can see the angry gleam in his eye.

Just like his mistress, the Angel's brother lacks patience.

Something catches his eye then, a different gleam, one that seems to soar upwards into the thick white clouds.

"Did you see that?" the Angel says to his brother, directing his attention.

The darkly clothed angel shakes his head. "What was it?"

"I'm not sure", the Angel replies, "but I think it bears investigating".

His brother complies and together they turn towards the sign that the Angel's gaze beheld for the merest moment. He keeps his eyes sharp and wary as they descend into the clouds; at his shoulder he sees his brother nock an arrow. It takes some searching, but eventually the brothers unravel the secret of the clouds and chance upon an ancient building standing tall and proud upon a floating islet.

They press forth towards it, soon alighting upon the islet and lifting their eyes to look upon the building. It is the first time they have seen it, and neither can recall a word being spoken as to existence. They wonder briefly if their mistresses are aware of it, but rather than dwell upon, they push such thoughts to one side and venture on beyond the threshold of the tall doorway.

Within its walls all is dark and the air is cool; the angels feel their skin tingling uncomfortably as they seek to explore the confines of the building. The Angel hears it first – a small voice softly singing; his brother turns to him with a raised brow and determined look in his eye. The Angel pauses for a moment, captured by the song he can barely hear. Its words he does not know, for the tongue that speaks them is foreign to him, but the gentle melody is something that tugs at his soul.

They make their steps more surely and quickly as the owner of the voice leads them unwittingly onward; the cold, grim corridors become a blur as they chase those melodious notes. Eventually, they discern the room within which the singer resides and the angels stand at the edge of the doorway, wreathed in shadow.

It occurs to the Angel that they know not whether the being within the room is the one they seek. His brother whispers indifference back to him; he is more than certain it is, why else should they exist in such a secluded place, unbeknownst to anyone? He reminds the Angel who has sent them forth, reminds him that they must not return with news of failure, and then before the Angel can speak a word in reply, his brother turns the corner. Bow in hand and arrow nocked, the Angel cannot help but turn along with him.

Moments before chaos erupts, the Angel meets the eye of the woman that resides within the room. She is sat before a small fire, and in her hands is a chain of lilies; stray petals lay strewn upon the ground at her feet. She lifts her head as they appear and her eyes widen in shock. So too does the Angel's, for the woman is beyond comparison.

She is beautiful.


	7. Turn Not Against Thy Brother

The Angel extends his arm across and obscures his brother's path; they are both breathing heavily, the Angel sporting a painful burn along his thigh. The woman is slumped against the wall, clutching a limp arm tightly to her side as she glares up at them. Blood drips between her fingers; scarlet coats the edge of the Angel's golden blade. His brother remains relatively unharmed, having wielded his bow during the brief but vicious fight.

The woman regards him with seething eyes, her lips curled in such anger as she winces, clutching her arm. The Angel's skin burns where she struck him – with lightning no less. It astonishes him beyond measure to see her wield such a force of nature as her weapon, and on more than one occasion it almost costs he and his brother their lives. But in the end, they prevail.

The Nymph is not what she once was; her strength has waned and fatigue and grief haunt her body. It does not take long for the angels to overpower her. Her body simply will not answer to her call and soon she finds herself at the point of the dark angel's arrow. But the Angel will not let him kill her. Not yet.

With their battle at an end, the Angel finds that he cannot turn his eyes away from her. She may have been bruised and bloodied, exhaustion drawing her features tight, but yet still he is entranced by her.

Her eyes are hot with anger and cold with hate, yet they sparkle like a stone of pure amethyst. Her skin is fair, cheeks rosy in the wake of her exertion. Her hair – oh, what a strange thing! The Angel is accustomed to the long, luxurious tresses of his mistress, but the woman before him wears her crown short, golden locks barely reaching below her neck. Beyond that, he can see that the tips of her locks are tinted with the hue of her cheeks in a peculiar yet enticing fashion.

She glares at him with a meaning he cannot confuse, but yet he sees something upon the surface of her eyes, something that stirs some part of him deep within his being and calls for mercy.

"What are you doing?" he hears the hiss of his brother as he turns away his arrow.

"Wait", the Angel bids. "Wait just a moment", he says. He grips his blade and points it at the woman.

"Tell me why you did it", he commands her. "Tell me why you sent ruin upon humankind".

"I and my kin did nothing!" she answers fiercely, her eyes ablaze.

"Liar", the Angel's brother growls, raising his bow.

"Wait!" the Angel bids once more, this time standing between his brother and the woman. "The truth", he says to her as he searches her beautiful eyes.

The Nymph regards him in stubborn silence for a time, refusing to speak or even blink, but eventually she relents. The Angel and his brother listen as she tells them all that she knows. The sound of her voice fills the room and the Angel remains attentive to it. As he hears what she has to say, her words inspire something within him, and he cannot ignore it.

Trust; everything that she is telling them sounds ever so peculiar to his ear. He and his brother never descended to the world of Man but to destroy the spawn of the dark, cavernous realm beneath it when the Keeper of Souls grew bored. They had witnessed the companionship of the Nymphs and humankind from afar and there was no strife between them.

"I believe you", the Angel hears himself say before he truly realises it. The Nymph's eyes widen as she starts in surprise; his brother hisses at his back.

"You would not show her mercy", his brother says. But the Angel must; deep within his heart he knows that something is amiss, and that to slay this woman now would haunt his dreams.

"We will return to our realm", he tells his brother, "and present this news to our mistresses".

But his brother will not be appeased; he is loyal to his mistress, promising to return only with news of success.

Before the Angel realises it, he stands in the way of his brother, golden blade raised with clear intent. He cannot let him take the Nymph's life, not while the truth of the matter still remains unclear. Shock is evident upon his brother's face, but that is soon replaced in favour of a snarl.

He raises his bow.


	8. A Cry Unto Darkness

There is pain – oh, so much pain! His life spills from his wounds, inflicted by a blade he knows so well, that blade wielded by a hand he knows even better. Never in all his days did he once imagine that the golden blade of his brother would be turned against him. In his memories, he knows nothing more than fighting alongside him, day by day, but now all has changed and he lies defeated upon the cold floor.

To his credit, he ponders through the haze that is settling upon his mind, he gave his brother his fair share in kind. But he would always begrudgingly admit that his brother possessed the better skill with the blade; his own forte lay with the bow and arrow, weapons that now lay mockingly beyond his reach, fallen along with him.

He can feel a great and familiar presence rushing through the sky towards him, his pained call of distress drawing her unto him. His mistress rides to meet him as with each moment the world slips out from beneath his grasp. Tears splash his cheek as he hears her voice, angry, bitter and incomparably sad tears. He knows that his time is short now, but his brother has done more than steal his life.

Darkness sweeps through the old, abandoned Temple and finally reaches her beloved angel. She falls to her knees at his side and clutches his clothes, his hands, and then his head in her hands. She whispers desperately to him, begging him to clutch onto life. For Darkness and her angel share a secret, one that illuminates the reason for his fervent loyalty to her.

He loves her, and she loves him deeply in return. It is not the same love that Light and her angel share, no. The love between Darkness and her angel is the one forbidden to a servant and his mistress. Their stations are distant, the chasm between them far and wide, but yet still they dared to cross it. Darkness' heart belongs well and truly to her angel, and she cannot bear to see him perish in her arms. But there is nothing she can do.

Her precious, beloved angel breathes his last.

Darkness touches her lips to his, but she cannot match his small and now timeless smile. It was a hard earned thing, his smile, but she had fought and won that battle. He would smile only for her, laugh truly only for her. His eyes would grow soft and shimmer, only for her.

And now, he is gone.

Her passionate howl shakes the walls of the old Temple and breaks its foundations; the clouds that once embraced it so now flee at the fury and grief in her voice. Darkness gathers her broken angel into her arms, eyes alight with foreboding fire as she prepares to return to her realm.

There, she will meet with her sister. This time, her anger will not be cooled.

* * *

**A/N: I wrote this assuming that readers would understand the characters the story refers to despite not using their names, an error on my part I think. I should have perhaps made it clear from the get go, but I'll clarify it now.**

**Calamity: Pandora**

**The Nymph: Phosphora**

**The Angel: Pit (Dark Pit is referred to for the most part as 'his brother')**

**Light/Darkness: Palutena/Medusa**

**And eventually, we'll be seeing - **

**Mother Nature: Viridi**

**Death: Thanatos**

**The Keeper (of Souls): Hades**

**With that being said, thanks to all those who have reviewed thus far, and to all of you for giving this story a look in the first place. **

**#DukeSerkol, I can appreciate that, don't feel forced to give a review on my account. I'm writing this primarily to put something on the scoreboard with regards to Pandora, afaik she hardly features in KI fics at present. I'm using this particular style of writing because...well, honestly because I'm being a little lazy. I just know that I would not see through a traditionally longer story to its end, so this is somewhat of a compromise as well as a little experimentation.  
**


	9. Scorn Not Thy Mother's Love

_Mirror, Mirror…_

Calamity leaves her abode once more and journeys to the realm of the sky, there to determine what headway has been made. The continued existence of the last remaining nymph irks her greatly with each passing day, and though she knows the answer the Mirror will give unto her, she cannot help but ask that ever familiar question.

When she arrives at the city of angels, encompassed in the glory of her beauty and stunning the populace to silence, she finds turmoil brewing at its heart. She steps foot within the grand temple of the realm's rulers and immediately hears voices at war. With intrigue and a slanted curve upon her lips, Calamity investigates its source.

The angels who act as servants within the temple's walls do not wish her to see the strife that has arisen between the sisters, but dare they refuse her command? She enters into the throne room and sees an angel clothed in black lying at the feet of his mistress, his eyes closed and lips curved in the peace of death.

Calamity learns much as she watches Darkness rage and scream at her sister. The perished angel fought with his traitorous brother, who upon discovering their quarry was entranced by her voice and tricked into showing her mercy. The nymph and Light's angel fled after the latter cut down his brother, who was found in his final moments by his mistress.

Calamity listens as Darkness demands her sister bring her favoured angel before them; her voice and manner grow ever more volatile and though she does not voice it, Calamity hears the desire for blood. Caught up in their argument, the sisters do not take note of her and Calamity forbids the angels from announcing her. She has seen and heard enough.

As she turns aside and makes her leave, she smirks as she realises the implications of her first visit. Where Calamity walks, her nature must follow. She turns her eye away from the troubled city and departs from the realm of the sky. Now, she makes for the world of Man, there to find its mistress, Mother Nature.

She finds her tending to the poisoned forests of the earth, and is careful to hide the smile that rises to her lips before speaking with her. Mother Nature takes the form of a young child, kind and gentle, but Calamity sees beyond such an appearance. Mother Nature is a vengeful being; she and humankind had been the chief executioners of the nymphs.

The nymphs first love had been for the things of nature, and so Mother Nature regarded them as her daughters, loving them dearly in kind. When the land and the waters fell to the poison, held tight in the grip of corruption, Mother Nature was incensed beyond measure. It was not difficult for Calamity to encourage her to take her rightful vengeance.

The nymphs had betrayed her trust and sullied her love for them; Calamity pointed and Mother Nature sought to rid her world of them. Now, as Calamity greets her with the news of one last remaining nymph, hiding amongst her beloved forests, Mother Nature once again turns to rage.

"She will not survive long", Mother Nature promises, "I will sweep her from this earth".

Calamity simply smiles; she trusts Mother Nature to do what the sisters of the sky could not. And so she watches as Mother Nature calls her many other children unto her, listens as the command is given to find the last of the nymph. Oh, it will not be long now; soon she will sing unto the Mirror once more and find her question answered with perfect truth.

_Mirror, Mirror…_


	10. Flee Into The Night

"You should not have done that", the Nymph tells him.

"I should have let him slay you instead?" the Angel says in return, and to that the Nymph has no answer.

"I could not let him", the Angel speaks again, slowly and quietly. "I…I had to".

What he has done, he cannot repeat, and though the Nymph is grateful for his actions she finds that she can say nothing. How can she thank him for fighting - perhaps killing his own brother on her account?

"Let me see to your wounds", she says instead. He complies without another word.

The peace of the forest to which she led them embraces them as she kneels at his side. He winces softly as she tends to him, his head hung low as she repairs the torn flesh of his arm. She sees the crystal drop of tear fall from his eye and knows his pain; her heart grows heavy, but she knows not how to comfort him.

She had expected only death of his hand, certainly not mercy, and because of his actions he doomed himself to the existence she has known since the ruthless murder of her kin. The Angel is more than certain that his brother's mistress will continue pursuing them, if only to find him rather than her.

As the night falls around them, she bids him first to rest. He does not do so easily, but eventually his eyes give in to the lure of sleep. She watches him breathe gently, the rise and fall of his chest small and rhythmic. It seems that the nightmares do not plague him yet, and she is for a moment jealous. Her eyes linger upon his wings, tall and wide though they are tucked against his back, and white as the clouds. Shadows flicker across his soft features as the moonlight reaches through the crown of the trees above.

The Angel wakes sometime later to sounds both strange and familiar; he hears the voice of the Nymph vehemently speaking a tongue he does not know. He rouses himself and goes to investigate, startling the Nymph as he finds her grinding flowers beneath her heel. Her actions surprise him until she explains herself.

"The poison that spreads across the land, it comes from these flowers. They are not the product of my kin, of that I can assure you".

He believes her, though as he wordlessly kneels to look upon the crushed and twisted flowers something sparks in his remembrance. The petals of the flower are bright blue, a colour more vivid than the sky itself, and sitting within their ring are its organs, amethyst like the eyes of the woman who had visited his realm.

"What is it?" the Nymph asks him, noting his surprise.

Though he cannot determine why he knows it, the Angel reveals to the Nymph the identity of the flower's maker, but there is little time for either of them to ponder it. They both turn as they hear the forest whisper surreptitiously.

"We are pursued", the Nymph says, "Mother Nature will not rest until she finds me". She takes hold of his arm and pulls him in her wake, but the Angel offers resistance.

"We cannot hide long upon the earth", he answers her questioning gaze.

The Nymph disagrees; she knows the earth far better than he, and is convinced of the opposite. After all, that is the only hope she has. She knows nowhere else she can run to. The Angel does, however; he and his brother had often travelled there at the behest of their mistresses. And so he takes the hand of the Nymph and leads her down to the realm beneath the earth, the domain of the Keeper of Souls.


	11. The Promise

Mother Nature is one of the first of the Elder Gods' daughters and mistress of the world of Man, yet to one's eye she does not appear as such. She often questions her makers' reasoning in giving unto her such a form, at times vehement words escaping her lips. At first, those who come after her think to treat her in a manner they think befits her form; she is ridiculed day by day.

Those foolish beings soon come to learn their place.

Though Calamity had been one of the very few to treat her as her power and station demanded, Mother Nature did not like to linger often in her presence. Where Calamity walks, ill tidings often follow, and so when she comes suddenly to visit with her, Mother Nature knows to remain watchful. Calamity does indeed bring tidings, though upon hearing them, Mother Nature does not possess the mind to consider it ill or otherwise. A fury consumes her being instead.

The nymphs had been dear to her, and she had called them her daughters proudly, ushering them into her inner courts where not even her many other children set foot. She knows not their reasoning, but she does not want to; all that matters is the death and destruction they bring upon her world as they unleash their poison. She feels the pain of the earth and hears the cries of the forests; as the poison spreads and sinks deep she feels it gnawing throughout her being. It almost cripples her beyond rescue.

So when Calamity tells her that one yet lives, Mother Nature can think of nothing save vengeance. As her brothers and sisters by the hand of the Elder Gods had mocked her for the form she took, she had grown spiteful, a vengeful spirit taking root within her. Her makers had been forced to chastise her for slewing a number of the pantheon. Now, that same spirit takes a hold of her and sharpens her eyes and ears as she hunts for the nymph.

But as she stalks through her forest, her many children gathering about her as they lend their eyes and ears to her cause, she gradually comes to a realisation. In the wake of the nymphs' actions, she knows that Man had been the first to strike in vengeance, Calamity had told her so. She knows that the nymphs had tricked humankind into searching for the seeds that had brought poison to the earth; Calamity had told her this also. But what she did not know is the methods to which Man turned in pursuit of the nymphs' treacherous gift.

Mother Nature pauses in her stride, her eyes surveying that which presents itself to her. As she looks, she knows beyond doubt that this is not the work of the poison. Trees lie scattered to and fro, their trunks brutally hacked to pieces. The earth is scorched, rendered as nothing more than ash, the sustenance it once offered to her children no more. She sees a vast path cut through the forest, and in the wake of Man's avid search is left nothing but destruction.

Mother Nature is caught in a long, stretching moment where her thoughts are naught but turmoil. Who does she condemn for the senseless violence she sees before her, the nymphs or Man? She reluctantly accepts that humankind has their needs, but that does not mean she likes what they do in order to satisfy them. She watches them with an ever increasing vexation.

But this…this is far beyond the realm of needs. She looks and sees nothing more than violence for the sake of violence. Fuelled by their desire to claim the nymphs' secrets for themselves, Man had put her forests to the blade and torch.

"And they would dare to live on as though they have done no wrong?"

Mother Nature speaks with a voice of rage, and her children scatter from her as her being radiates with it.

Oh, she may indeed possess the form of a mere child, but it is folly to vex her. She may possess eyes the colour of honey that seem to be brightened with the light of compassion, but the clench of her fist and the curl of her lips speak of passionate fury. She may adorn her dress with flowers as the hand of a child might, but her hand knows death as well as life. Her many children and even the forest itself shudder at the sound of her voice.

"Man will suffer for this".

* * *

**A/N: #Duke Serkol, nope this has nothing to do with The Queen's War, the one thing I've carried over from that to this is the idea that Phosphora is a nymph. **

**And I wonder, are other readers thrown by my not using the characters' names? I anticipated some ambiguity with 'the Nymph', but I figured a connection could easily be made with the story having been listed as Pandora/Phosphora.**


	12. To Dance With Death

Calamity's trembling fist hovers in the air, a mere moment away from smashing the Mirror to pieces. The barren chamber echoes with her scream as with difficulty she works restraint upon herself. The fires of rage burn hot within her core and just – only just – does she manage to temper it. She would never have spared a moment to entertain the possibility that Mother Nature had failed to find and destroy the last of the nymphs, but that the Mirror answers her question with the wretched being's image forces her to embark upon a visit to the world of Man once again.

When she arrives, she finds herself bemused at the sight before her eyes. Mother Nature, it appears, is at war with humankind. Curiosity serves to dampen her impatience and anger – if only for a moment, and she seeks to learn more. She discovers that Man had pushed Mother Nature beyond the limits of her tolerance for their existence; the search that she had set them upon to procure the nymph's 'secret' led them to destroy swaths of Mother Nature's forests and muddy her lakes and streams. Mother Nature would no longer allow their callous treatment of her domain.

Despite herself, Calamity cannot help but grin when she learns that the news she brought to Mother Nature causes her in turn to discover the extent of Man's violence. She reasons that the nymph would have been long since discovered were it not for the distraction humankind unwittingly provide. Mother Nature knows her realm better than any other, and the nymph could not have hidden long here. Calamity briefly allows herself to watch as Mother Nature's wrath spills over the walls of Man's strongholds before considering where to seek her prey.

It would be folly for the nymph to dare to turn skyward in order to hide once more; Light and Darkness had set angels to prowl the skies night and day. Calamity knows that Darkness searches tirelessly for her quarry. Even despite the splitting of Mother Nature's attentions, it would be folly for the nymph to remain upon the earth, and so Calamity concludes that there is only one place left for her to run. This little game is almost at its end.

Calamity descends to the realm below Mother Nature's, a dark and cavernous land where naught but the souls of the once living reside. They and two other beings, to be more precise; her brothers by the hand of the Elder Gods, she supposes. As Mother Nature knows her realm far better than Calamity ever will, she seeks the master of this realm, the Keeper of Souls. Unfortunately, she knows him to be an evasive being; she does not wish to waste time in a laborious effort to find him. Fortunately, his companion by means of the work they both tend to is far more easily locatable.

"Calamity", Death rasps as he answers to her call, "such an honour".

His eyes rove over her form as he speaks and she fights to restrain the plain disgust that is born within her breast from reaching her face. At least for now. She is long acquainted with Death; he is one of the earliest sons of the Elder Gods, lecherous in his manner and grotesque in appearance. It shames her to dwell within his presence, but to find the Keeper she needs him, and with blatant arrogance Death shows her that he knows this.

"Where is the Keeper?" she demands of him.

"Come now, dear sister", Death drawls, and she hates him all the more for addressing her as such. "We have not supped and dined in each other's company for so long".

"Such a thing pleases me greatly. Now tell me where the Keeper hides himself".

"I will, I will", Death assures her. "But first, you would grant me one favour, yes?"

He floats in a languid circle around her person, and she can feel his eyes upon her skin. She knows of course what favour he desires of her; he tirelessly requests it despite the manner in which she often chooses to refuse him. She spends a moment to ponder whether to refuse him in such a manner now – it would certainly draw the Keeper's attention. And his ire. Death takes her silence for an answer and dares to trail cold fingertips along her shoulder. There is a flash of blue light, accompanied by the sound of steel puncturing flesh.

"Oh, sweet sister…thou art cruel", Death groans in agony.

She chooses not to regard him as he sinks to his knees, impaled upon her sword. She does however savour the delightful satisfaction of his death at her hand. But of course, Death himself cannot perish; Calamity knows this, and it is why she is certain that the Keeper will find her soon. Her patience is rewarded not long after Death's form crumbles to dust.


	13. The Keeper's Secret

The darkness before her seems to twist and bend in upon itself and she looks on as a multitude of shadows pulls itself from dark depths, swiftly taking on a familiar form. A wrathful voice precedes the forming of black, empty eyes.

"Who dares put Death to the sword?" the Keeper demands, but then as he truly takes his shape, his eyes fall upon her.

"Of course", he says. "Who else could it have been? None would dare save you, Calamity".

"I hope you can forgive me", she says sweetly. "I did try ever so hard to restrain myself".

The Keeper merely casts a dark sidelong glance in her direction as he turns to the drifting dust that had once take the shape of Death. Death could not be slayed in truth, but only the Keeper could reform his body anew. For that, he would have to recover Death's soul, which upon being violently parted from his body by Calamity's blade would take to roaming the vastness of the dark realm like a wayward shade. It will take the Keeper some time to recover it, this Calamity knows.

He turns back to her and regards her in sullen silence; she simply offers him her charming smile. It has been a while indeed since she last laid her eyes upon him, and unlike Death she did not mind to feast her gaze with his appearance. He was a handsome being, as old if not older than Death – she had never been quite sure.

The task the Elder Gods lay upon him is to watch over the dark lands below Man's realm, here to guide and keep their souls upon their passing. He has confessed to her in the past that it is tedious work, and thus why he frequently sends twisted creatures of the dark up to visit upon the earth. Yes, there are grievous injuries and numerous deaths, towns and villages often trodden underfoot, but do not be mistaken, he would tell her in earnest. He does not hate Man; they simply make for good sport now and then.

"Why have you come and inconvenienced me once again?" he asks her plainly

"I did not mean to", she promises, "I only wished to meet swiftly with you".

"What do you want?" he says, ignoring her words completely. Calamity cannot help herself; she giggles.

"Then begone", the Keeper banishes her. He turns aside and Calamity is at his shoulder in the very next instant, looping an arm through his tightly folded pair.

"Come now", she says with a voice smoother than honey, "I am truly sorry. I seek the last of the nymphs, but I could not hope to know the lay of this land as well as its master".

He says nothing to her, though he does not pull away.

"I am sure you know where she is", she says.

He is taller than her, and when he turns and looks at her, she tilts her face to meet the black pools of his eyes and smiles easily. It is not a moment later when the Keeper breathes a sigh of annoyance and confesses that he does indeed know where the last of the nymphs hides. In fact, he knows of her presence the moment she and her companion – who Calamity confesses to having forgotten about – the moment they set foot within his realm. But of course, there is a price that Calamity must pay for such information. The Keeper demands that which Death before him requested.

Calamity agrees without hesitation; this is not the first time this sequence of events has played itself out. The Keeper is easy upon her eye and one of the very few she will join with in the embrace of passion. They steal away to a secret place and there dance beneath silken sheets, their desire and delight a pleasant song upon the air. And when all is said and very much done, he tells her where the Nymph and the Angel seek to hide themselves.


	14. Found You!

The Nymph sits cross-legged besides the pool of clear, crystalline water, her eyes turned to her side where the Angel lies in slumber. Crystal formations sit afloat in the air, encircling the shimmering pool, fractured light captured within their faceted depths. The Nymph knows not how long they have hidden themselves within this dark domain; she is cold and weary, and her body protests with each movement she makes. She can find nothing with which to bring a flame into being to chase the chill away, and so gripped in unconscious, the Angel sidles close to the meagre warmth of her body.

She does not mind this; in fact it is something of a comfort to her. Curled up against her, the Angel sleeps gently, his great wings tucked flat against his back. She has been quietly fascinated by them ever since laying eyes upon them and now, for the first time, reaches her hand towards them. The tips of countless feathers whisper against her palm, softer than the clouds. It soothes her to merely touch them in this manner, and she feels the echo of a peace she once knew so well settle upon her.

The slumbering Angel does not in fact slumber, but keeps his eyes pressed shut as he feels the Nymph's warm body against his own. Though her touch is slight, he feels her upon his wings, exploring with curious fingers. His wings are sensitive, and her touch sends a pleasant sensation pulsing along his skin. His senses spring to life and he wishes more than anything to open his eyes to grace them with her visage. He smells the forest – the rich scent of the earth and the perfume of wildflowers; he hears the morning song of the birds, a soft sound that soothes his pain.

He does open his eyes then, and turns his head to find that she is already looking down upon him. She does not smile, and he can see the shadows that cling to her gaze still. He imagines that she can see darkness in his own. He tries not to think of what he has done, but it haunts him daily. Despite this, he could not imagine a circumstance where he would not have protected the Nymph. She spoke with a truth that he believes; Light, his mistress, would understand surely…

The Nymph…she does not understand why the Angel fought his one and only brother to spare her life. She knows not whether to show her gratitude or reprimand him. She cannot imagine sacrificing her kin for a stranger. Perhaps all she can give to him is comfort. They are alone, with only each other to rely upon, and he has not failed her yet. So she takes her hand and lays it upon his cheek as he gazes up at her, eyes dimmed with sadness and guilt. She would never have thought such a simple thing difficult, but she labours to bring even just a small smile to her lips. When she does so, however, she does not regret it.

The Angel returns it in kind.

Suddenly, there is a flurry of wind and laughter upon the air. It is a voice that the Angel knows. He and the Nymph find their feet swiftly, but even before they can truly gather their senses, Calamity is upon them.

The battle is violent and swift, over almost as quickly as it begins. The Nymph and the Angel fight heroically, though their bodies scream in protest, but Calamity is peerless in her swordplay and her strength far exceeds their imagination. When calm settles once more, the Angel lies upon the ground, limbs askew as his garment is slowly stained with scarlet.

The Nymph is limp within Calamity's grip, feet dragging beneath her. Calamity's lips no longer know laughter and glee as she holds the creature tight by her golden crown. Her eyes burn with triumph as she splits the shadows of the Keeper's domain and steps through into her own.


	15. The Mirror Of Truth

She wakes, slowly and painfully, but at last she wakes. She lifts eyes hazy with the agony that torments her form and there finds before her a large mirror that hangs poised in the air above a raised pedestal. Beside it stands a woman – a beautiful woman no doubt, such beauty that despite herself, the Nymph feels her breath grow sharp and short. But then she remembers; this is the woman who appeared with an unannounced suddenness and swept the Angel aside with a flash of steel. It is also the same woman the Angel spoke to her of, because as she regains herself, the Nymph recalls his words upon seeing the poison bearing flowers.

The Nymph pulls herself up from the cold floor. "Who are you?" she demands.

The woman saunters towards her, hips swaying as she spreads her arms in a gesture of welcome. "I am Calamity".

The name holds no significance for the Nymph, but yet still she feels something rising to the surface of her skin, something prickly hot and passionate; the foreshadowing of an anger she has directed at no other until now. She glances away from the woman for a moment, catching her reflection upon the floating mirror. Her harrowing trials have left their mark upon her; she is tired and worn, and the battle with Calamity only leaves her with more bruises. But that is of little consequence to her. With the Angel's words upon her mind, the Nymph confronts Calamity with a question.

"Are you the murderer of my kin? Is it you who poisoned the earth and set Man and the Gods against us?"

Calamity's smile begins slowly, and it is a cruel, mocking thing. "It was I", she confesses easily. "You wretched creatures thought to steal the glory of my perfection; I will share it with no one, and so for your insolence, you must be destroyed".

The Nymph stares up at the woman. She does not understand, but perhaps understanding is not required her. She has all that she needs; Calamity has confessed to her crimes. All of her Sisters are dead by her hand and nature spoiled by her deeds. That is all she needs to know.

The Nymph launches herself at Calamity with a cry of vengeance – but she is weak, weaker even than in their previous bout. Calamity expends no effort in bringing the Nymph once more to her knees, a mocking laugh the song of their battle. She fastens her grip about the Nymph's throat and brings her before the Mirror. Here, once and for all, she will have her question answered.

"Mirror, Mirror", she sings. "Show me your perfect truth. Who is most fair in all creation?"

The Nymph is bruised and broken, worn and weary. She hangs limply in Calamity's grip as the surface of the Mirror is hidden beneath silver mist, what dwells behind it for the moment a mystery to both of them. And then the mist clears.

The Nymph looks upon herself – but she is transformed. The Mirror shows her an image of herself before Calamity's purge, and beyond that, it shows each and every one of her Sisters, for the moment no more dead, but alive and encompassed in an aura of peace and contentment. Her reflection smiles wide and bright, her eyes shining with the light of happiness.

Since the dawn of Time and her creation, Calamity has posed her question to the Mirror. The Mirror is born of her realm and at one time knows nothing more than she and the heavenly courts, among which there surely exist no equal. Even when Man grace the earth and angels the sky, the Mirror sees none among them. But when it finally sees the nymphs, they who exist between the realms of Man and the Gods, it knows that they are different.

They are a selfless people, with a deep and pure love for the things of nature. They seek only peace and between the Gods and Man often serve as its broker. The sheer physical beauty of Calamity they may not possess, but the Mirror is compelled to look beyond the physical surface once it turns and sees the nymphs. Their beauty is a wholesome thing, and once it knows of them, the Mirror has only one, unchanging answer to Calamity's one unchanging question.

Calamity stares upon the Mirror as the Nymph stared upon her, all reasonable thoughts and words chased from her mind. And then she casts the Nymph away from her and with a shout of rage lashes out at the Mirror. The Mirror shatters violently beneath the point of her sword.

The Nymph hears something whistling through the air, but also the sounds of sharp, wet impacts, numerous to her count. She does not turn to verify with her eyes what her ear assumes however, for only moments after the Mirror shatters does Calamity's realm begin to tremble.

The realm is a labyrinth of twisting corridors and shifting walls, and as the Nymph tries to flee from it as reality seems to precariously bend before her eyes, she finds that her efforts somehow lead her back to the very same room she had left. In the centre of the room, the empty frame of the Mirror hovers silently above the raised pedestal. Calamity lies before it with her hair and limbs tossed askew, impaled upon silver shards.

Suddenly, a hole is ripped into reality as the world around her collapses and the Nymph stumbles towards the darkness of the Keeper's domain. She spares but a glance for the strewn form of Calamity before escaping the demise of her realm.

All is still and quiet, and the Nymph does not recognise where she is. She looks down and slowly lifts the arm she clutches tight to her stomach. She staggers – almost falling to her knees – as she looks upon the scarlet wound inflicted by Calamity's blade. After a long moment, she looks away and gathers her remaining vestiges of strength. There is no other thought or desire within her mind other than to find the Angel, and so she begins her journey.


	16. To The Stars

She knows not how long it takes, but eventually she finds him. He lies still and unmoving, peaceful in his slumber. She is ever so tired and wants only to rest, so she lies down beside him, tucking herself close to his body. Her fingers dance gently among the feathers of his wings before sleep lulls her softly with its song.

They rise together, the Nymph and the Angel, they rise and know no more the things of pain and suffering.

As they rise, they see the Keeper of Souls amassing creatures of the dark, intending once more to inflict his presence and power upon the world of Man. The Nymph and the Angel are greatly worried, but there is naught that they can do, and so they rise.

They leave his domain behind, and soar towards the golden skies, but both turn and see Mother Nature at war with humankind. Mother Nature brings death and destruction to Man's door, and Man in turns wields the axe and the flame. The Nymph and the Angel are greatly saddened, but there is naught that they can do, and so they rise.

They behold the realm of the sky in their eyes and see only chaos. Driven by grief and anger, Darkness lashes out against her sister and splits the realm in two. War brings flames and death to the city of angels, and Darkness seeks to cast a perpetual night over the sky. The Angel seeks frantically for his mistress, but he cannot find her. He seeks then to descend to the city, but the Nymph does not let him go. Their time is passed and there is naught that they can do, and so they must rise.

They rise above the skies and the heavens and finally discover their destination. The stars, many and bright, greet them fondly. Together, the Nymph and the Angel settle into their embrace, there to dwell for all eternity.


End file.
